


Lead Me Home

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 818, Established Relationship, M/M, episode coda, one third angst, one third character study, one third romance, vague references to mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: Steve takes a breath, holds it, lets it out.  One of the best things about bringing Danny under his roof and into his bed, is that he has to use the crowbar less and less these days.  It doesn’t mean wrangling the truth from Danny is necessarily any easier, but it can be less painful.- Steve and Danny come to grips with the day, and with the past.  A little Brontosaurus by the name of Charlie helps.





	Lead Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> The episode was, well, not quite what I was hoping for. Some of the writing decisions were a bit baffling, especially to my vulnerable Danny-loving-heart. Nevertheless, this is an attempt to grapple with what we were given, and (hopefully) comfort folks.

Danny is quiet, tonight. 

If the team was here, Steve would make some crack about it being weird, being a relief - but for all that he is happy to complain that Danny never shuts up, Steve knows better than most just how untrue that really is. He’s had to wrangle more than a few weary thoughts out of the man; had to pry Danny out of many a deep, dark, introspective spiral. 

Breaking Danny free of his own brain can be a lot to deal with – for the both of them. Steve’s trained to cope with all sorts of horrors, but it frightens him sometimes just how despairing Danny can get. He’s got more than his own fair share of issues, no doubt about it, but where he compartmentalises, processes, pushes forward, Danny sometimes sinks, withdraws, folds inward upon himself.

He gets this look in his eye, mind a million miles away and fingers fidgeting. Steve could watch Danny’s hands for hours: the way he slides the pad of his thumb over his palm, or twitches his pointer finger, muscle memory trying to shake the ash from a cigarette. Danny gave up the habit a long time ago, but his fingers remember.

The Camaro used to be where Steve would take to Danny with a crowbar, crack him open until anger and love and despair came pouring out, until the truth was revealed. It was their space. Sure, there were occasional interlopers, but much like water is wet, the Camaro was theirs. It still is, really, but now they share four walls and a roof. A bed. A toothbrush cup. The occasional pair of boxers. It’s overwhelming and wonderful – Danny, _Danny_ is overwhelming and wonderful, a source of love that warms Steve’s cheeks and curls his toes.

Tonight, Danny is quiet - physically at the dinner table but mentally off in his own little world. He’s been quiet ever since he got home, Charlie in tow. It makes Steve worry, because Danny would rather walk barefoot on hot coals than upset or unsettle his son. 

Charlie, bless his socks, is too busy coloring and working on homework and shovelling broccoli into his mouth to really notice. Steve’s still figuring out this whole parenting thing, but he’s declaring this a win/lose: shovelling bad, broccoli good.

“Can I have some more, Stevie?” Charlie is loud enough to startle Steve from his study of Danny, and Danny from his study of the kitchen table.

Danny shakes himself off, immediately sparkling and ready to entertain. That’s just the kind of father he is. “Look at you, my little brontosaurus! Asking for more greens? Aren’t you supposed to want hot dogs and lollies?”

Charlie giggles, soaking up his father’s affection. Steve feels the knot in his chest loosen, just a smidge.

“Gracie says they’re bad for you. Besides, broccoli is yummy!”

Danny huffs dramatically, acts as though he’s got the weirdest kid ever, even though it’s obvious how pleased he is to be raising a happy and healthy boy. He looks at Steve, says, “How did I end up with a herbivore?” He says more than that, though, says a wealth of things with his eyes. _Sorry I zoned out. Thank you for taking point, tonight._

“I’m not a herbivore, Danno,” Charlie protests. “I’m an omnu…omni? Omnivore!” He stabs his lamb chop with his fork, waving it around in demonstration.

“Oi, cut that out, you,” Steve says gently. He nudges Charlie’s fork aside and doles out another helping of broccoli. “You know, he’s got you there, Danno. He’s definitely not a herbivore.”

“Fine,” Danny concedes with a sigh. “But can we at least agree that he is a Brontosaurus?”

Charlie bellows, an expert in prehistoric noises after repeat-viewings of Jurassic Park. He stretches his neck as far as it’ll go, lips pursed and teeth chomping as he tries to snare a broccoli floret off his plate like a dinosaur.

Danny laughs, too amused to scold, capable only of flapping his hands around and saying, “Stop! Stop, stop, stop, you goofball.” Eventually they both calm down, settling into their usual chatter. Danny has this way of teasing his children, poking and prodding them into confessions and giggles and contemplation.

Steve lets the sound of them wash over him, chiming in when Charlie opens up about a mean boy at school. It’s his place, now, to play a role in Charlie’s day to day life. The honour is scarier than anything the military ever threw at him, but more wonderful, too.

“So I should just tell the teacher?” Charlie confirms, forkful of food halfway to his mouth. He’s a sweet kid, rambunctious yet gentle, but he looks dubious. 

Danny nods. “Yeah, bud, just tell the teacher. She’s there to help you.”

Charlie’s little face screws up, the very picture of deep-thought. “Is that what you would’ve done?”

Steve can’t help but smile, watching the way Danny shuffles in his seat, the way he coughs, embarrassed. Steve’s heard enough from Clara to know that little Danny Williams was a scrapper, bursting with enough energy to fill ten grown men, let alone one pint-sized kid. No, Danny most definitely would not have gone to tell the teacher.

“No, no, no it is not,” Danny confesses. “But me? I was a schmuck, Charlie, you don’t gotta do what your old man did. I’m sure Steve had his fair share of scrapes?”

Steve nods, because yes, this is true. Probably not as many as Danny, mind you. He feels ancient when he says, “That was a long time ago, bud. Things were kind of different when your dad and I were growing up. Plus, neither of us was half as smart as you are. Danno definitely wasn’t.” He winks to soften the blow.

Danny scowls.

“But I agree with your dad,” Steve continues. “There’s nothing wrong with telling the teacher. If my team was having trouble with someone, I’d want them to tell me.”

Charlie slumps back in his seat, chewing thoughtfully. Steve takes the opportunity to drink Danny in, comforted that Danny is finally eating. He looks tired, though. It’s been a day.

“Right,” Steve says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll do the dishes. Charlie, little man, time for a bath. You all done with dinner?”

Charlie nods, shakes his head, eyes off the last piece of broccoli. Scoffing it down, he takes his plate over to the sink. Steve ruffles his hair as he walks past and then nudges him towards the door. The kitchen falls to quietness once more, happy little splish-splashes eventually filtering down from upstairs. Charlie always sings in the bath, and sure enough a squeaky little voice starts up on _Yellow Submarine._ It’s ridiculously endearing. 

Even sedate and sleepy, Danny has one ear angled to the door, his radar constantly scanning and reporting back on his son. He’s only eaten about half his dinner, but he doesn’t seem inclined to finish. The kitchen table is once again receiving a glare of death.

“Y’know,” Steve says, trying to cajole him back out of his funk. “It’s only because you’re cute that I’m going to clear your plate for you. You’re a big boy, Danno.”

“Hhmm?” Danny shakes himself off again, looks up with huge blue eyes. “Sorry, babe, huh?” 

Ignoring the plates, Steve shifts his chair over, so close that their knees knock, their thighs slide together. He tugs, but Danny resists; he tugs again and slowly Danny unfolds, grumbling.

“I’m not sitting on your lap, you caveman.”

Steve laughs, warmed. “I wouldn’t dream of hauling you onto my lap.” It’s a lie and they both know it. “Hey. Come on. Talk to me.”

Danny frowns. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world. He looks like he hates himself, and it cuts Steve clean in two. Danny’s finger twitches, imaginary ash tumbling off into the past. “It’s like I said. I was a schmuck.”

From upstairs, Charlie transitions smoothly to _Jumpin’ Jack Flash_. It makes Danny smile, which makes Steve smile.

“I was a schmuck,” Danny says again. “It wasn’t…” he trails off. “I didn’t mean to be. It felt right. To the both of us.”

“Brooke?” Steve confirms. He feels lost and he doesn’t like it. It had been torture not going with Danny, today, but Danny had asked for space. 

Danny nods. “I just liked her. I would’ve done anything to help her, no matter what. But I liked her, so we-” He stops, looks down. “Y’know.”

“You slept with her?” Steve asks, more loud and firm than he’d wanted this conversation to be.

Danny flinches, withdraws, clams back up. Normally he’s explosive, but not when he’s like this. Not when he’s _quiet_ , in that despairing way he can be.

Steve takes a breath, holds it, lets it out. One of the best things about bringing Danny under his roof and into his bed, is that he has to use the crowbar less and less these days. It doesn’t mean wrangling the truth from him is necessarily any easier, but it can be less painful. Danny’s not a man to be coddled, but if you fight hard enough to earn your place then he’ll respond to your love. Or your condemnation.

Steve knows he’s earned his place.

“I know I should’ve told you, before I went to see her today,” Danny offers, both a mea culpa and a diversionary tactic.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t care about that.” He sighs. “Look-”

“-No, don’t,” Danny says. “Don’t. I meant what I said, okay? I meant what I said. I liked her, and she liked me, so we got together.” He’s firing up, coming back to life little bit by little bit. “It was real, but it was complicated, and I should’ve known better. She made the choice, too, and I won’t disrespect her by acting like that wasn’t her right - like she wasn’t capable. But it was complicated, and I was supposed to be there as a cop. So. Yeah. I was a schmuck.”

Steve studies him, gaze drifting across golden skin, pink cheeks, pale scars. He knows that _it’s okay_ won’t fly, because it’s not, because it’s not his place to say and because they’re not words that Danny even needs from him. When Danny feels like shit about something, the whole universe could forgive him and he’d still push forward under the weight. It’s not deliberate, not something he can control, it’s just the way he’s wired. 

Danny shifts under the scrutiny, the fire in him growing and growing. Even after all these years, Steve is equal-parts amazed and frightened and frustrated at just how deeply Danny feels. Everything. The good, the bad, the joyful, the agonizing, everything in between - it all crashes over him, threatens to drown him, threatens to strangle him on the rare occasion that he claws his way to dry land. He’s learned how to cope, how to live life and get the job done, how to raise children and help people. But it’s a lot. It’s a lot for him, and for the people who love him. 

Steve considers it one of the greatest honors of his life, that he gets to tether himself to Danny’s side and try to steer them both onwards. He knows deep in his bones that Danny does the same for him, in his own way.

“Listen to me,” Steve says. “Hey, look at me.”

Danny looks up, challenging and guilty.

“Listen to me,” Steve says again. “I love you. You’re a nightmare and you’re amazing and I love you.”

Danny laughs, a happy-sad sound that fills the kitchen.

“No, Danny, listen.” Steve reaches out, grips the front of Danny’s shirt, hauls him closer. “I love you. You know I do. We say it all the time. I can’t change how you feel about what you did. But I just…” he trails off. “I just love you.”

Danny’s smile is small, but Steve feels like it could power the island for a week. 

“And you know what?” Steve continues. “You love me, too. That dirtbag is dead, Brooke is alive, _you’re_ alive, and we’re here, together. Your son, _our_ little Brontosaurus, is upstairs singing his heart out. That’s pretty damn amazing in my book.”

Danny’s smile grows; happiness has washed through his system, diluting the despair. Steve kisses him, because he can’t _not_ , because he knows just how to stir that happiness up. Danny is a complex creature and Steve knows every inch of him.

They kiss and kiss, smiling against each others lips as Charlie starts to warble Celine Dion.

“Hey,” Danny says, nuzzling against Steve’s cheek. “Hey. Listen. I know I’m a lot. I mean, I’m perfect, obviously.” He grins, a sparkling quirk of his lips. “But I know I’m a lot. And I just want to be absolutely, one hundred and ten percent clear, that I love you too.” 

Steve knows. He nuzzles back, drifting along to tug at Danny’s earlobe, whisper in his ear. “How about we get Charlie into his PJs, and then we can all pile into bed and watch _How To Train Your Dragon_ for the millionth time. Sound good?”

“Yeah, babe,” Danny says. “Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Linda for inspiring Charlie's singing habit. <3
> 
> Danny is a complex fella. My thoughts and feelings regarding his mental health are not concrete, this is simply what flew from my fingertips at this point in time.


End file.
